


Kept

by askboo



Series: This is More [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-Game(s), The Inquisitor Needs a Cuddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/askboo/pseuds/askboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor's work and the long separations with the man he loves are catching up with him. Dorian learns the responsibility that comes with having more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kept

**Author's Note:**

> This little moment occurs after the game. It assumes Dorian would eventually leave for Tevinter but would come back often for visits with his Amatus.

When he steps into his room, he wonders for a moment if he's entered into a dream. If somewhere along the journey here, he'd sat down on a stone step, or curled up behind a bookshelf, and given into the exhaustion that was weighing on him like a fever. It seems the only explanation for the jarring sensation of walking into a room that is lit and warm, when he'd expected it to be cold and dark, as it had been for weeks. He stands in the doorway for several seconds, puffy eyes blinking blearily at the lit fire.

A few more steps into the room increases his suspicions that this is a dream. There's a pile of books on the bedside table that he never uses, a pair of clothes neatly folded on the upholstered chair by the window. Dorian's long legs form a lump under the blankets, a book held open in his lap. He turns it over face down on his knees when he feels the incredulous stare, his lips tilting up on one side. "You're quite late," he says.

The Inquisitor lifts shaking hands to start undoing the clasps on his coat, still staring. "I'm not quite convinced this isn't a dream," he says, because Dorian never minds when he voices his sillier thoughts, and if it is a dream it won't matter either way. He hadn't been expecting Dorian back from Tevinter for another month. 

Dorian laughs, the rich sound bouncing off the walls, making the Inquisitor's hands feel weaker. He shrugs out of his coat, then his shirt, ignoring the disapproving click of Dorian's tongue when he leaves them piled on the floor. "Why did you not come for me when you arrived?" he asks. "Or at least send word?"

"And lose the advantage of surprise?" Dorian replies. His voice is warm with his usual playful charm, but his eyes are watchful, his brow pulled down. He sits up a little. "You look near death, amatus."

"I'm only tired," he replies, though he must admit it feels too mild a word. He's never before experienced such a heavy fog in his mind, his very bones aching and angry with him. His trousers join the pile on the floor, and he crawls on to the bed, over Dorian's legs, his arms resting on either side of the other man's waist as he stares down at him, struggling to decide what he wants to do more. 

The clear indecisiveness on his face makes Dorian laugh again, hearty with affection. "Must you overthink everything?" he asks, and opens one arm to make way for him, curling it around the Inquisitor's shoulder when he lays down against his chest. The Inquisitor is too exhausted to feel ashamed of the way his breath eases out in a wheeze, the great shudder he gives when Dorian's arm tightens around him. Dorian is always so _warm_ , and he lays his cheek against his neck and collar, absorbing as much of the warmth as he can. 

He's always so cold, without Dorian around.

He lays that way for a long time, curled against Dorian's chest, drifting in and out of sleep to the sound of the fire and Dorian flipping the pages of his book. He needs a great deal of sleep but the excitement of having Dorian here keeps him present. Another full shudder leaves him when Dorian's hand lifts to his hair, his fingers sliding idly through, making him tingle. His body reacts to Dorian in a way he never knew was possible. "Are you still awake?" Dorian asks softly.

"Yes," he whispers, though he knows it's an answer that will get him into trouble.

Dorian puts the book aside and take his face in his hands instead, lifting his head so he's forced to look at him. Those eyes are searching him again, though the concern is much clearer this time. His beautiful fingers brush gently over the swollen skin under the Inquisitor's eyes. "What have you been doing to yourself, amatus?" Dorian asks gently.

"Working," he replies, and his teeth flash as he grins. "Without you here I have no one to remind me of the benefits of idle pleasures."

"I knew it," Dorian says disapprovingly. He starts to run his hands through the Inquisitor's hair again, smiling when his eyes close. Wondering if the exhausted man will fall asleep like this, perched over Dorian's chest on his elbows. "The hair on my arms was constantly standing on end."

"Is that why you returned so early?" The Inquisitor asks, though he's frightened to hear this may be nothing more than a quick visit, frightened of himself in this weakened state, that he might beg Dorian to return for good. Neither of them know how much longer these long separations will be necessary, though Dorian has sworn it won't be forever. "To save me from myself?"

Dorian pushes up on one elbow, kissing him. He lingers in response to the Inquistor's tired moan, kissing him again. "I returned so early because I missed you," he says, in that hesitant way he always makes confessions, like he's still scared of overstepping the mark. "Now I have a mind to drag you back with me. You can live as a kept man."

The Inquisitor laughs, flattening himself out on Dorian's chest, his cheek pressed to his. "Doesn't sound half bad," he says.

"It isn't!" Dorian insists, wrapping both arms around him now. "Haven't I always told you that South knows nothing of luxury?"

"You have," he agrees. "Though I suspect you would miss writing me those romantic letters."

"I'd have no reason to stop," Dorian disagrees. "I'd leave them for you on our table in the morning and return to perform the fantasies I described later that night."

The Inquisitor laughs, pushing up on his arms again. He has only energy enough to rest his forehead against Dorian's. "I offered to come with you long ago," he murmurs. "You rejected me outright."

"That was before I knew you were completely incapable of taking care of yourself," Dorian says, nuzzling him. "The life I thought I'd be dragging you away from was somewhat different from reality."

"I care for myself," he murmurs, sliding his fingers between Dorian's, so both their hands are stretched above their heads on the bed. "I just--lately, I haven't felt myself. And when you aren't here...I...I feel less certain that everything will be alright. The world could end and I'd be happy if you were with me. When you aren't, I feel much more compelled to make sure it doesn't end."

Dorian's eyes are closed now. He looks pained and disbelieving, like the Inquisitor's love for him is overwhelming. The Inquisitor knows it's because he's never been the recipient of such love before, as outrageous a concept as it seems to him. Loving Dorian comes to him so naturally. He'd fallen in love with him the moment he'd heard him speak. "Perhaps we ought to put your astounding arrogance aside," Dorian says finally, his voice hoarse. "And acknowledge that the world will not likely end if you visit Tevinter for a few months."

The Inquisitor finally eases down, his cheek tucked once again against Dorian's collar. It's his favourite part of the other man's unbelievable body. "A few months," he murmurs, trying to keep his longing in check. 

"You need the rest," Dorian murmurs against his temple. "It can be now or it can be later, when your body forces you to because of some terrible illness. I'd rather it be now, with me. When I can take full advantage of you."

"I seem to recall, last time I had a fever, you were still more than willing to--"

"Nevermind that," Dorian says impatiently. "Will you join me or not?"

The Inquisitor was quiet for some time. The fire had died down considerably. "And you won't feel as if I'm getting in the way," he questions quietly. 

Dorian kisses his temple then, squeezing him tighter. "On the contrary," he whispers. "You can disregard every thing I've said about it. I could use your input. Provided it's done from the comfort of our chambers, or perhaps a lounge chair in a sunny courtyard."

The Inquisitor feels glee, excitement and relief fill him so suddenly that he feels near dizzy with it, his mind swimming more than it already was. He starts to fall asleep again in Dorian's arms, really breathing for the first time in weeks. "I'll join you," he whispers.

Dorian squeezes him. "I'll have silk pyjamas purchased in your size immediately."


End file.
